


Only Fools (Fall)

by werewolvesandarrows (nerdy_farm_girl)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Future Fic, Getting Together, M/M, Werewolf Conferences & Conventions, mchhaleinski valentines exchange
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-15
Updated: 2016-02-15
Packaged: 2018-05-20 19:31:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6022159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nerdy_farm_girl/pseuds/werewolvesandarrows
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scott knew this was a bad idea from the get go.<br/>Okay, maybe not quite, but let’s just say he had some reservations about bringing Derek and Stiles to the Northern California Alpha Symposium as his guests. He was willing to take a majority of the blame, but he just wishes someone (coughLYDIAcough) would have stepped in and straightened this out before things got out of hand.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Only Fools (Fall)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [seriousshit88](https://archiveofourown.org/users/seriousshit88/gifts).



> Written for the McHaleinski Valentine's Exchange, and is also posted on their [tumblr](http://mchaleinskiexchange.tumblr.com/post/139334991321/only-fools-fall).

Scott knew this was a bad idea from the get go.

Okay, maybe not quite, but let’s just say he had some _reservations_ about bringing Derek _and_ Stiles to the Northern California Alpha Symposium as his guests. He was willing to take a majority of the blame, but he just wishes _someone_ (coughLYDIAcough) would have stepped in and straightened this out before things got out of hand.

Scott was originally going to just bring Mason, his official emissary, who could attend the emissary sessions that ran simultaneously with the alpha focused sessions. It made the most sense, both because alphas and their emissaries are the one who drive most pack interactions _and_ because Mason is the _least_ problematic member of the pack. Unfortunately, Mason’s final exams schedule got changed at the last minute, and his biochem final was interfering with NCAS. Scott _obviously_ told him to take his exam, education is much more important than werewolf symposiums, and was planning on attending alone.

But then _someone_ (and by someone he means Stiles) had to go and _dig_ through the internet and somehow come to the realization that NCAS was less like an information session and more like a speed dating weekend. According to Stiles’ ‘sources’ any unmated alpha would more than likely leave NCAS with a potential mate.

“It’s not that I don’t want you to meet someone,” Stiles explains (he’s lying, but Scott hides his smile behind his hand). “It’s just that our pack isn’t ready for like inter-pack marriage politics and shit. And you’re too _nice_! Some old lady will convince you that you _have_ to marry her daughter to save her pack and you’ll _like_ agree without even seeing her and she’ll end up being like half troll or something. Or a fucking faerie-werewolf hybrid Scott, did you ever think of _that_?” This would have been a good time for someone like Lydia to butt in and suggest that _she_ pretend to be Scott’s girlfriend, _or_ point out that Scott is a grown man who can handle himself.

Neither of those things happen.

Instead, Derek, the self-sacrificing bastard, steps forward.

“I’ll go with him.”

“WHAT!” Stiles squawks, leaping between Scott and Derek before either of them can say another word. “I don’t think so big guy, you are like the _worst_ liar in the history of liars. _I_ , a master of the trade, will be accompanying Scott as his mate.”

“ _You_?” Derek rolls his eyes, though Scott doesn’t miss the way they linger on Stiles’ hands and throat and lips. “Like an alpha would pick _you_ as their mate.”

Scott sighs. This is not going to end well. He chances a glance at the couch, where Malia, Kira, Lydia, Liam and Mason have somehow procured a bowl of popcorn, and are watching this go down with looks of pure _glee_ on their faces.

“Oh cause you’re so much better huh? Just ‘cause my abs don’t have abs and my eyes aren’t an unidentifiable shade of pretty doesn’t mean I’m any _lower_ than _you_ buddy.” Stiles sneers, apparently unaware that his insults weren’t exactly… insulting.

“Guys,” Scott cuts in before Derek can volley back. “You can both come with me.”

 It would probably be comical, the way Stiles’ jaw drops and Derek’s eyebrows jump and both of them kind of freeze in place, if Scott wasn’t overly invested in their reaction. Because the thing is, he _likes_ both of them. A lot. More than just pack members and more than just friends. More like he wants to hold Derek’s hand and kiss Stiles’ mouth and know how it feels to fall asleep cuddled up with each of them. Or both of them. At the same time.

“That’s _not_ solving anything Scott,” Stiles huffs. “If we bring this _oaf_ we’re going to have to spend the whole time keeping him out of old lady alpha’s clutches. Can’t you _see_ it! He’s too pretty for this.”

“If you think _I_ am prettier than Scott than you have no business being his pretend mate,” Derek growls, the tips of his ears turning pink. “Maybe we’ll just marry you off instead.”

“Okay hold on a minute bro, Scott is a thousand times prettier than you, don’t you even go thinking anything else. And the fact that _you_ think another pack would want _me_ speaks an awful lot-”

“Stiles!” Scott barks, cutting him off. “I just signed us up. You two have a month to get over it.” _And I have a month to prepare myself_ , he adds in his head. Across the room, Lydia smirks at him.

She did this on purpose.

 They probably should have taken separate cars, if only so Scott could ditch the pair of them when the bickering got to be too much. But he knew Stiles would insist on driving Scott, and he couldn’t bear to have to look at Derek’s sad, lonely (well more like grumpy) face in the rear view mirror. Which is why he’s currently sitting in the backseat of Derek’s mom car, trying not to laugh at Derek and Stiles arguing in the front seat like an old married couple.

Even with the arguing Scott feels blissfully content. The car is filled with the scent of the three of them, mixing together and almost intoxicating. Both Derek and Stiles smell slightly anxious, but Scott knows that his own apparent ease makes things easier on the both of them.  He knows he should just finally find the courage to talk to them about this _thing_ that’s been brewing between the three of them since Scott and Stiles were sixteen. It’s been seven years, and while their relationship as a whole has gotten easier, Scott can’t help but _feel_. Now would be a perfect time to bring it up, but he can’t help but feel slightly guilty about trapping the three of them together in a car for this conversation. He really should have taken Lydia up on her offer to help him talk through it once.

Instead of bringing it up, he reaches up into the front seat and changes the radio station, effectively ending the argument that had been brewing for almost an hour. Stiles and Derek fall silent, neither of them making eye contact with Scott. He grins. This is going to be an interesting weekend.

Scott’s been an alpha for going on six years, and if he’s learned one thing, it’s that he needs to be prepared for _anything_. He’s spent weeks getting ready for NCAS, working on his control, practicing yoga, reading up on the different seminars he would be attending. But all it takes is one step inside the hotel lobby, and he’s already overwhelmed.

The scent of dozens of alphas attacks his nose, sending his senses reeling and his eyes flaring red without permission. He slams his eyes shut and pulls back the wolf, but he can’t hide the way his body wobbles. Derek must feel it too, because his arm slips around Scott’s waist, pulling him close and holding him up, anchoring him. Scott hides his face in the side of Derek’s neck (he is supposed to be his mate after all) dragging in deep breaths and filling his lungs with Derek’s pure scent. Behind them Stiles sucks in a giant breath, presumably gearing up for some kind of argument. But when he slips around in front of them, the breath leaves him in a whoosh.

“I’ll go get us checked in,” he says softly, in that voice he saves for special occasions.

“Thanks babe,” Derek grunts. Scott can’t help but laugh, his head starting to feel clearer already. He can feel Derek’s glare without even looking at him, so he doesn’t, instead lifting his head and taking another deep breath. It still throws him off balance (though not as much as hearing Derek call Stiles babe), but it’s less of a crashing feeling and more of a gentle swell.

He can handle this.

* * *

Stiles is not handling this.

He’s not handling the way his body reacts to seeing Derek and Scott all wrapped around each other. He’s not handling the fact that Derek Fucking Hale just called him _babe_. And he’s _definitely_ not handling the fact that somehow they have a room with a single king bed. What even is his life?

The problem is that he is definitely not opposed to sharing a bed with Scott. Or Derek. Or Scott _and_ Derek. But this whole thing is supposed to be like a “fake boyfriends” coupe, and his partners in crime happen to be able to sniff out boners, so they’re definitely going to know this isn’t as fake for Stiles as it’s supposed to be. He probably wouldn’t even feel all that awkward about it except for the fact that Derek is very obviously in love with Scott. And as much as it ruffles his feathers, he’s not about to get in the middle of Scott getting laid. Or well, he did kind of shove himself in the middle of this, but everyone knows that Derek being the fake boyfriend by himself would have been a fucking disaster. The dude has the worst luck ever. Even this weekend Stiles expects to have to fend off some alphas from trying to get their claws in his man. Not that… Derek’s _not_ his man okay. Scott kind of is, like, he feels like he has more room to be possessive of Scott, with the whole best friends since the playground thing. There’s like, an ingrained right to want to make sure his boy picks the right guy. Which would be himself. Stiles just hasn’t figured out how to bring it up.

So he ambles back across the lobby, ignoring the eyes he can feel trained on the three of them. “We’re room 317!” He grins, probably too wide, judging by the way Derek’s eyebrows are climbing towards his hairline. Whatever. Scott’s looking a little less like he just got punched in the gut, and that’s really the only thing that matters. Stiles slips his hand into Scott’s and tugs, dragging him towards the elevator and sending another fake smile (this one is purposeful) towards Derek. Who of course, rolls his eyes but picks up his bags and follows anyways.

Stiles waits until the elevator slides closed behind him to let out the breath he was holding, He sags against the wall, tilting his head back to stare at the mirrored ceiling.

“So um, they put us in a room with only one king bed,” he mentions as nonchalantly as he can manage, carefully watching Derek and Scott’s reactions in the mirror overhead.

“You didn’t ask to change it?” Derek growls, the tips of his ears turning pink.

“No-”

“We are supposed to be dating each other Der,” Scott cuts in before Stiles can get out his scathing retort, turning to smile softly at Stiles. “It would have looked strange to protest.” Derek huffs like he’s been horribly offended, but doesn’t say anything else. Stiles tries not to take offense at his attitude but he _does_. Derek could at least _act_ like he’s not disgusted by Stiles’ presence. He’s not a werewolf, he can’t detect lies.

Luckily, the elevator dings before Stiles can say anything else, the door sliding open saving him for potential embarrassment. Scott bounds out into the hallway, almost _skipping_ towards their room. He pauses in front of their door, looking at Stiles expectantly. With a sigh, Stiles leans around him and slips in the key card, resolutely _not_ noticing how good Scott smells. It’s the same as he always smells, like Melissa’s laundry detergent and soap and _home_. The struggle to not rub his face across Scott’s chest is real. The light flashes green and Stiles steps back, allowing Scott to push open the door and walk in.

The room is… it’s _nice_. It’d be nicer if they were actually dating, if they could take advantage of the giant shower with the built in bench, of the huge bed covered in pillows and the balcony looking out onto the mountains. Instead, Stiles is going to be focused on _not_ getting a boner.

Great.

He doesn’t realize he’s kind of stalling in the little entryway until Derek’s shoulder knocks into him, sending him stumbling forward. The bed’s coming up fast so he just sprawls across it, breathing in the scent of bleached linens. It’s probably offensive to a werewolf nose, he thinks, they can probably still smell all the other people who’ve used it on top of the chemicals. Which is kind of gross, and he really wishes he hadn’t thought about it to begin with.

But then Scott flops down beside him, arm slung easily across his waist and nose tucked against his shoulder, and Stiles forgets all about the sheets. There’s a part of him that wants to cuddle into Scott, wants to wrap his arms around him and take this from more than just their usual ‘bros bein’ bros’ thing. But when it comes down to it he’s _scared_ , and he’s not about to put his heart of the line with Grumpypants Hale glaring at him from the other side of the room. (He can’t actually _see_ Derek but he can _feel_ him. Glaring. Always glaring). So he settles for what he’s got, Scott’s face tucked against his arm and his hand warm against his ribs.

“We should really be getting ready for-” Derek pauses, the sound of his thumbs flipping open a packet of papers loud in the quiet room. “For the speed networking tonight.”

Stiles groans into the mattress. Speed networking sounds exactly like the type of thing he’s going to hate. In fact, the only person who might hate it more than him is Derek Hale.

“Why would you even bring that up dude?” He asks, pleased with the fact that he doesn’t even have to lift his head to know Derek will hear him. “I don’t wanna go.”

“I don’t either,” Derek huffs, paper crinkling dangerously. “But it’s in an hour.”

“Derek,” Scott _sighs_ , his lips catching on the sleeve of Stiles’ t-shirt. Just the way he says _Derek_ sends shivers down Stiles’ spine, and it’s not even his fucking name. “Come over here and cuddle with us, we need to smell like we like each other.” Stiles attempts to keep his eyes closed while rolling them. There is no doubt in his mind that he _smells_ like he likes Scott. His skin and clothes are probably seeped in affection and desire for Scott (and Derek too, but he’s not sure he wants to go there).

Derek huffs, but Stiles can hear him stepping closer, can feel the dip of the bed as he settles onto it.  Scott makes this little sound, something between and irritated groan and a laugh, pushing himself up with the arm slung across Stiles’ back. The movement bring him over Stiles, hovering in a way that makes Stiles want to arch his back and push his ass up until he makes contact. But Scott’s gone just as fast, crawling up the bed and pushing Derek down.

Stiles forces the jealousy crawling up his throat down, lifting his head up just enough to watch. They look good together, so different from each other but so handsome. Derek’s actually smiling, dimples cutting into his cheeks beneath his beard as one arm wraps easily around Scott. They’re whispering to each other, so quietly Stiles has no hopes of hearing it. With a sigh that wasn’t supposed to be as loud as it is, he drops his head back onto the bed and curls up into himself. He just needs a minute, just a moment to settle into the fact that Scott wants Derek, and Stiles wants whatever will make Scott happy. He _can_ do it, he knows he can.

“ _Stiles_.” This time it’s _his_ name that Scott’s saying like that, all fond and soft and a little bit exasperated. “I swear to God you two are impossible.” When Stiles looks up at him he’s holding an arm out, a clear space for Stiles open. It would involve touching _Derek_ , and as much as Stiles (and Little Stiles let’s be real) wants to get all up on that, he doesn’t want to subject Derek to it. His hesitation must show on his face, because Derek (DEREK!!) leans forward and grabs him by the arm, dragging him easily up the bed in a way that does _not_ turn him on okay? No way, no how. He falls against Derek’s chest, which is surprisingly comfortable. Scott lets out a little contented sigh and actually _snuggles_ in closer, his face so near to Stiles’ he swears he can feel eyelashes brushing his cheek. It takes him a moment to realize that it’s Derek’s heart not his own beating almost too fast in his ears, like it wants to break free of his ribs.  The realization settles something in Stiles, like maybe Derek doesn’t actually despise him, and maybe, maybe this doesn’t have to be so fake after all.

* * *

 Derek is going to hell.

He knows he is, knows that if Laura were still alive she’d be laughing at the way he manages to get himself into these predicaments. But really, it’s not his _fault_ that the bratty teenagers he found wandering around on his property have grown up to be strikingly beautiful young men. And it’s also not his fault that he has a jealous streak a mile wide.

Usually he can control it, especially when it’s regular humans and people from their everyday lives that are showing Scott or Stiles attention. It’s not like it’s undeserved. But when it’s a hotel full of alpha werewolves… that’s an entirely different story.

They’ve managed to make it through a full day of seminars. Stiles attended the emissary ones, where he is supposed to be taking careful notes for Mason. Derek suspects he’s just taping the lectures, which is probably a good thing judging by his atrocious hand writing. Derek has been attending the other sessions with Scott, sitting beside him and trying not to growl like a good mate.

_Mate_.

The word makes his skin crawl, mostly because he doesn’t believe in forever things like _mates_. His father had been his mom’s _mate_ but he’d left after Cora was born, disappearing into the night, never to be heard from again. But perhaps what bothers him the most is he wants a forever, he wants a happily ever after, and he wants it with Scott _and_ Stiles. He’s not even sure how that works, if it _can_ work, but he knows he’s never slept better (or felt safer) than last night with Scott and Stiles in bed with him. Bed sharing is not as cute as rom coms make it out to be, especially when Scott kicks and Stiles steals the covers. There wasn’t any cute spooning or hand holding or confessions of feelings. But Derek woke up in the morning with Scott’s arm thrown across his chest and Stiles wrapped up in the sheets like a burrito, and for the first time in years he wanted to stay in bed because he was content, not because he didn’t feel like facing the day.

Of course, things had gone steadily downhill from there, starting with him bristling every time someone so much as _looked_ at Stiles (and god, his attraction to Stiles is the thing he’s trying to hide the most, if only because being attracted to an _alpha_ is easier to explain. Stiles drives him _mad_ , so mad that he wants to push him up against a wall and kiss him senseless) and ending with him glowering from his seat at this banquet table while Scott chats amicably with an alpha with territory that abuts theirs. He’s considering going over there and inserting himself into the conversation, or, you know, standing there menacingly, when a hand lands on his shoulder. It takes every ounce of willpower he has not to spin around and snap at this person, his instincts screaming that something’s wrong. Instead he clenches his jaw and looks up to find a woman, probably close to his age, smiling wryly down at him.

“Derek Hale,” she says, blue eyes twinkling. “You probably don’t remember me but-”

“Meg Quinn.” He cuts her off, memories of Cora’s little blonde best friend surfacing.  Meg smiles warmly and sinks down into the chair beside him (Stiles’ chair, his brain reminds him oh so helpfully), her knees brushing against his thigh.

“I heard through the grapevine that Cora’s actually alive,” Meg says, a flush rising high on her cheeks. For a moment Derek thinks she’s somehow trying to flirt with him, but then he realizes that _maybe_ its Cora she’s after. “I actually found her on Facebook but you know…”

“Want her number?” Derek offers easily, holding out his hand for her phone. Meg nods eagerly, and he’s just taking her phone from her when he senses Stiles coming up behind him.

“Hey baby,” Stiles _purrs_ , hands slipping down his shoulders as he presses a kiss behind his ear. Derek knows he’s blushing, and he can’t help but lean into the touch, settling back in his chair until his head rests against Stiles’ stomach. Meg’s watching him with wide eyes, her lips twitching at the corners like she thinks something’s funny.

Derek finishes adding Cora’s number and hands the phone back. “Make sure you tell her you got the number from me,” he adds quietly. “Cora can get paranoid.”

“Thanks,” Meg grins and stands, shooting Stiles another half nervous, half amused glance. “I’ll uh, leave you too - uh - it was good to see you Derek.” She runs off before he can say anything else, but Stiles is collapsing into her seat anyways.

“So uh,” he rubs awkwardly at the back of his neck, as if he doesn’t know how _distracting_ the flex of his forearms is. “I uh - kind of thought she was hitting on you?” Derek smiles at the floor, jerking his head up when Stiles’ heart skips a beat. When he looks up Stiles looks fine, though he’s staring intently at the open space over Derek’s shoulder.

“Meg was Cora’s best friend before the fire,” he explains quietly. “Her uncle is the alpha of the Sacramento Pack. Our families were good friends. I think she has a crush on Cor.” He smirks, expecting Stiles to smirk back. Instead, Stiles nods seriously, fingers tapping out a rhythm on the table.

“Crushes are the worst man,” he mumbles, eyes flicking to Derek and then over to Scott. Derek follows his gaze, startled to find Scott staring at the pair of them, his eyes dark. Heat crawls out from Derek’s chest, up towards his scalp and all the way down to the pit of his stomach. Even from here he catches the subtle change to Scott’s scent, the way it sharpens like cinnamon and makes his mouth water.

“We need to go,” Derek growls, cringing when his fangs start to drop. God. He’s like a fucking teenager over here or something. He grabs Stiles’ hand and hopes for the best, dragging him towards the elevators. By the time the door dings open Scott’s joined them, his arm wrapped securely around Derek’s waist.

To the other alpha’s they probably look like a happily mated triad, still young and in love and eager to get to their rooms. In reality Derek doesn’t even know if he’s _allowed_ to want this, if he’s allowed to have something like this with such _good_ people as Scott and Stiles.

The sound of the banquet hall is like a low background hum, but it’s filling Derek’s ears, deafening, making him feel small and unsure. But then the doors slide closed and Scott’s suddenly in front of him, pushing him up against the wall and kissing him like he’s _starving_ for it. Derek kisses back just as hungrily, one hand still curled around Stiles’ as he uses the other to drag Scott closer, closer, closer.

Stiles lets out this moan that makes Derek’s blood pulse hot, and suddenly he _needs_ him too, pulling him closer until he can release his hand and grab a fistful of his shirt.  Scott smiles against his mouth before pulling back, as if he _knows_ what Derek’s thinking.

“Kiss him,” Scott orders, soft and gentle, warm, thick fingers pushing up beneath Derek’s shirt. So Derek does, reeling Stiles in and kissing him almost chastely, asking for permission. He’s not at all prepared for Stiles’ shuddering exhale, or the way he seems to fall into him and Scott, and he’s even less prepared for the almost lazy way he kisses, open mouthed and slick like they’ve got all the time in the world.

The elevator doors slide open, and Derek’s ready to be embarrassed, to pretend it never happened, to brush it off as too many chemo signals trapped in a small space. But Scott just laughs and tugs them both out into the hall, fumbling with the key card as he struggles to get the door open.

Stiles wraps himself around Scott as soon as they get inside, and they kiss like they’ve done it before, and Derek can’t help but wonder if maybe they have. He sinks down onto the bed, content to watch them get lost in each other, in this room that smells like home and pack and _his_.

“Wait.” Scott pants against Stiles’ mouth, kissing him softly before disentangling himself. “We really need to talk about this.” He guides Stiles carefully back, pushing him to sit next to Derek on the bed. The dip of the mattress has them sliding together, but Derek doesn’t mind, nerves singing with the warmth of Stiles’ touch. “I want this with both of you guys, okay.” Scott paces in front of them, hands twisting in his hair. “But I need to know what you guys want, because this kind of thing requires a lot of communication okay. So if you don’t want to do this, like _for real_ , tell me. Preferably now. Before I do something I’ll regret.”

“I want this too,” Derek mumbles, surprised by the words tumbling from his lips. But he can’t - this is his one shot at something _real_ , something he’s always wanted. “With both of you. Always.”

He feels more than hears Stiles’ sharp intake of breath, long fingers curling around his jaw and turning his face.

“I thought you didn’t like me,” Stiles breathes, his eyes almost gold in the warm lamp light. “And _you_!” Stiles’ hands stay on Derek’s face as he turns towards Scott. “When were you planning on telling me this! I _know_ I have to be stinking the joint up with my boners and shit but-” Derek kisses him before he can finish, the sound of Scott’s laughter like music to his ears. 

It doesn’t take long before they’re tangled on the bed, trading sleepy kisses and missing half their clothes. Scott’s laying on his back in the middle of the bed, an arm around each of them, holding them to his chest. It should probably be ridiculous, the arguably smallest one holding the bigger ones, but it feels _right_. Scott’s chest is smooth beneath his cheek, and his whole body arches when Derek scrapes his stubble across it, leaving a trail of pink flush, only to have to fade.

“We should probably tell the pack,” Stiles suggests quietly, meeting Derek’s eyes across Scott’s chest.

“Can’t we wait?” Derek grumbles, eyelashes fluttering when Scott’s fingers slip into his hair.

“If we wait ‘till tomorrow Kira will win the bet,” Scott says around a yawn. “If we tell them today Liam will win.”

“Oh no, we are definitely waiting,” Stiles scoffs. “As unsavory as this whole _betting_ business is, I’m not letting that little brat win anything.”

Derek isn’t expecting Stiles to lean across Scott and kiss him, unbearably gentle. “You’re just so beautiful when you smile.” Scott explains, as if he and Stiles share a brain, and maybe they do. Derek doesn’t really care, all too happy to slip his tongue between Stiles’ lips and slide his hands across Scott’s ribs.

* * *

Lydia’s waiting for them when they arrive back in Beacon Hills, looking incredibly smug when she spots the poorly concealed hickeys trailing down Stiles _and_ Derek’s necks. (What, he has the urge to _mark_ sometimes, he can’t help it).

“Don’t even say it,” Scott warns as she stands up from the porch swing. “You had nothing to do with this.”

“Hi boys!” She waves merrily at Stiles and Derek, who seem to be attempting to hide behind Scott. “I had everything to do with this McCall. I have everything to do with everything.” With one last simpering smile, she flounces off the porch, heading for her car. Scott watches her go, ducking his head to hide a smile. He’ll never tell her she’s right of course, but she is.

She always is.


End file.
